


In the Right Direction

by Vintage (KyberHearts)



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Food, Modern Era, Other, Recovery, destory the stigma my friends, gender neutral reader, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberHearts/pseuds/Vintage
Summary: When Arno asks you to take better care of yourself and your mental health, it feels different this time.or how this is saved in my google docs, "when that depression^tm hits"





	In the Right Direction

“I am known to be a food connoisseur,” says Arno, as he dumps frozen blocks of mashed potatoes and meatloaf on a dish and shoves it into the microwave. “But for now, this’ll do.”

“I’m not hungry,” you mutter, setting your head on the kitchen table, too tired to even sit up straight. From the corner of your eye, the usually-sardonic assassin bustles around the kitchen and whistle a jaunty tune.

“You haven’t been hungry for the last few days.” Arno glances over. Despite the reassuring grin he flashes at you, there’s a hint of concern or incredulity in his voice. “When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”

“You’re talking about proper meals and you think TV dinners are a good substitute?”

“I think something is better than nothing.”

Before you know it, the microwave chimes, and there’s a plate of steaming hot food in front of you. Arno holds out a fork. You accept begrudgingly and start to pick at the dinner, separating mash from loaf.

“Thanks,” you say finally.

He sits down next to you. “You’re welcome. I stocked your freezer with four or five more dinners. I think I saw a frozen pizza somewhere, and that can probably last you a few days.” Arno’s blue eyes search your face, then drift elsewhere. “You have to take better care of yourself,” he chides gently.

“I know.” Your voice is soft, strained.

“You  _ know _ , but you have to also apply these things.” He crosses his arms. “It’s like… when someone knows how to swim and then sinks anyways.”

Nice analogy.

If only it didn’t feel like you’re swimming across the Pacific Ocean with a ball and chain attached to your ankle.

At the moment, there’s nothing you want to say in defense of yourself. Besides, arguing with someone as stubborn as Arno requires and saps energy you don’t have currently. You continue to push food around your plate and take occasional bites.

“Thank you,” he says suddenly.

You look up. “For what?”

His gaze returns to you. “For letting me know that you were in trouble.”

“Yeah. I’m glad you’re here.”

Arno reaches out and laces his fingers with your free hand. The gesture is comforting, especially after days of being alone and confined to home by your depression. A week’s worth of daylight couldn’t compare with this kind of solace.

“Promise me,” Arno says, his words sounding distant and unfamiliar because he’s never asked you to swear anything before.

He’s an individual who riles against rules and despises guarantees, even those made by friends and family alike. Still, there’s something serious in his gaze and his grip that suggests he’s willing to look the other way for once.

“Promise me that you’ll be safe.”

You want to ask,  _ What does that mean? How can I be in danger, at my home, in my bed? _

And then it makes sense.  _ Safe from yourself. Safe from your habits of not eating, sleeping too much, and dangerous thoughts. _

Your voice cracks when you reply, “I want to say that I can keep that promise. But I don’t know.”

“That’s not okay. You  _ have  _ to promise me, you  _ have  _ to let me know when it’s too difficult, or even if you just need some company.” Arno sounds close to breaking himself; you  _ hate  _ that you’ve done this to him. “Can you try and be safe? And if you can’t, will you tell me?”

You tighten your hand on him.

You want to promise him, but the self-destructive part of you whispers that if you say  _ yes _ , it’s just a lie.

You don’t  _ really _ believe that you’ll get better, do you?

And then you look up to Arno and see neither pity or plea in his eyes.

To your faint surprise, you see a hard, determined look which speaks of iron will and knowing that you  _ will _ get better, that the journey to recovery is difficult, and every small step feels like a thousand. But he knows that you can do it; he trusts and believes that you can do it.

“All right?” Arno says, raising his eyebrows and offering the barest of wry smiles. “You promise me?”

“I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> my two eternal moods:
> 
> a.) an interesting aspect of the humanistic gestalt theory is the "empty chair technique" in which you visualize an empty chair and consequently, a individual of importance/relation, and express your thoughts and emotions to develop a conversation where you are able to tune into your self-awareness/outside perception of the discussion
> 
> b.) *to the tune of let it be* when I find myself in times of trouble/ubisoft assassins come to me


End file.
